My Unusual Neighbor
by theresnodustinheaven
Summary: When a new family moves into his deceased parents' old home, Thomas Maitland dislikes them immediately. However, after learning that the neighbor's daughter can see and help him talk with his parents, he thinks differently. That may not be a good thing, however . . .
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so, I'm finally starting my first multi-chapter story! The original idea of this plot was inspired by sm4567, and I simply tweaked it just a bit (and don't worry, they gave me full permission to use the idea!). Also, for fair warning, one of the main characters of the story is an OC, so hopefully no one will get mad at me! Other than that, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"But I'm only fourteen! I couldn't possibly buy my parents' house!"

"Well, maybe your parents should have thought about you before they went off like that!"

The boy's face drained of its color, freckles now standing out like awkward, brown specks that dotted his cheeks. In an instant, he already pushed away from the table and was furiously marching to his room, his younger stepsister in tow before her mother called her back.

That mother was also pale. She really didn't mean those words, but she _had _to get her point across. And besides; "Business is business."

The young man resembled both his mother and father quite equally. A pile of brown curls were placed atop his head, and big, brown eyes were put onto his face—both of which were taken after his mother. And even though his eye _color _was from his mother, his poor eyesight was inherited from his father. He decided to wear traditional glasses that resembled his father's; big and round. Tropical freckles dotted his face that was shaped more like his fathers than his mother's heart-shaped one. His physique was a combination of both parent, for he was tall yet masculine; of course that could also change over time but his body shape never really did change drastically.

As he made his way to his room, he dramatically slammed the door behind himself, and slumped down on his bed, holding his forehead in his hands while groaning. A single, brown eye popped out from behind a glass wall and it spotted a pillow that had fallen off of his bed. Angrily, he kicked it across the room where it hit the wall and promptly fell to the floor before he groaned again. A light knock caused his other eye to pop out as well, and then his whole face was revealed from its hiding spot.

"Go away."

"It's me," a soft voice chanted.

"Oh."

That single syllable was enough to let the quiet voice turn the knob to the boy's room and enter. He removed his hands from his face and frowned when she turned her back to close the door behind her. She looked exactly like her mother . . . Not to mention the fact that their names were the same as well. "Little" Jane had dirty blonde hair and curious, green eyes. To the boy, she was like a dog, but not in appearance, that is. You see, Little Jane always took after her mother, whom, of which, was very nosy and annoying—it reminded him of how a dog takes after its owner. And yet, when the dog realized that unhappiness was lingering from someone else, it would sneak over to them and try to cheer them up, which seemed to be exactly what she was doing.

That, or Jane had sent her upstairs to make nice indirectly.

"I'm sorry for what my mother said."

Yeah, Jane probably sent her upstairs.

"It's not your fault," he coolly replied, "so don't feel bad and don't apologize, either. And I'm not going to forgive her until _she _apologizes instead of sending you up."

"My mother," Little Jane went on, in a tone as if she hadn't even listened to the other, "also says that she didn't mean it. 'Business is business' or something like that . . ." She fiddled with the hem of her dress, trying to find the right words. "She said that she likes your parents too. S-She didn't mean what she said, it was just a, uhm, uh . . . Slip of the tongu—"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard enough of this." He waved her off while getting off of his bed and headed for the door. When he opened it, the bigger Jane was already making her way up the stairs, as if she was already coming up to speak with him. Both people froze and stared at each other with wide eyes before the young male folded his arms across his chest and began to rhythmically tap his right foot upon the floor.

"I was just coming up to say that the new people moving in should be arriving tomorrow. Are you coming to greet them, or would you rather stay here?"

* * *

In reality, the trip from New York to Connecticut wasn't very long, but it seemed very tedious for almost every family member within the Deetz.

"So," Lydia—Charles's daughter and Delia's stepdaughter—piped up from the back seat, "you say that the people who used to live here died?"

"Lydia!" Her fiery stepmother turned around and snapped at her. "All you can think about are _dead _things. No wonder you're so miserable all of the time!" Turning around, she purposely hit her back against the seat of her chair, huffing. "Whereas you could care less about the fact that we're leaving New York for the middle of nowhere!"

"I don't think that it's the middle of nowhere," Lydia softly commented, glancing out of the window. Her expressionless face slightly lit up when a small smile graced it from seeing all of the older folk outside, doing various chores that needed to be done. She glanced back to Delia, or rather, the back of her head, covered in red hair. "And maybe this scenery can give you inspiration for your"—she glanced down quickly—"_art_."

Delia was going to turn around once more and snap at her stepdaughter once more, but Charles had abruptly stopped the car, causing both females to stop and look in his direction.

"Girls! I moved our family out here to _relax_. And goddammit, I will _relax_. Look, this is a big change from New York, and I want you two to stop arguing all of the time. Maybe some fresh air will both clear your minds from the long drive. And look"—he nodded his head in the direction of their new home—"we're here!"

Several moving trucks had been following the family during the entire drive. Upon getting out, Delia began barking orders at the men in said trucks, even before they actually got out of the trucks. Lydia and Charles, on the other hand, stood on the front lawn, admiring the New England home it all of its glory.

Charles comfortingly put an arm around Lydia's shoulders, beaming. "Isn't it wonderful, Pumpkin?"

Lydia nodded in grave approval. "Yes. It seems fascinating." Retrieving the camera that hung around her neck, she raised it to one of her eyes and began taking pictures, rotating in a circle around the house to get a good angle on each individual photograph. After taking a picture of an opened window in the attic, Lydia retrieved it and quickly looked it over, noticing that there were two smudges within that opened window. Looking up to the window itself, Lydia squinted, trying to locate the sources of these smudges, but unfortunately saw nothing within the window at the time. She then looked around from her father and stepmother to the various workers, trying to find someone to share her discovery with. When it was apparent that she would find no one, Lydia moved on, taking more photographs of the exterior of the house.

* * *

"Oh, Adam," a woman's voice softly cried, her arms clutching onto the chest of the bifocaled man next to her, "what is going on?"

"I don't know, Barbara," was his stoic reply, as he softly returned her grip in a reassuring embrace.

* * *

Four green eyes peered out of the window with minor interest, while two brown ones looked away in disgust. Both Jane and Little Jane exited the car after it was parked in the driveway of the new Deetz home, leaving the boy all by himself in the passenger seat. He grimaced and watched them as Jane scurried around to find the man who had just bought this house, and when she did, it looked as though she was annoying him to death. Little Jane, on the other hand, had gotten out and began skipping about freely, causing a few movers to stumble about and drop pieces of furniture, in which a redheaded woman would yell at them and scold them for not being careful. Sighing, the boy opened his car door and stepped outside, taking in a _deep _breath of air before letting everything out like a steam engine.

He shuffled about on the grass, looking around to each and every worker. He could easily tell apart Jane and Little Jane (obviously) as well as the owners of his old house. However, he couldn't exactly pick out what this moving, black speck was and what it was doing, for that matter. Removing his glasses, he quickly wiped them upon his shirt and placed them back upon the bridge of his nose, before the form of a girl took place. He found himself staring at her as she took more pictures before he quickly looked away at something else—his parents raised him in the fact that it was rude to stare at other people, especially when they looked so . . . _Different_. However, he was not fast enough, and she had spotted him as he had spotted her.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly pivoted on his heel, only to be immediately faced with a dark girl. Flinching, he staggered back a few feet and took in her appearance. Her black hair was in pointed tendrils across her forehead and the rest of it piled high on her head, making her hair almost look like a volcanic eruption. Her pale skin was an obvious contrast to her dark hair and her black clothing. A large, black poncho covered most of her body, and her legs were covered in black. A camera hung around her neck and was moving slightly, as if she had just set it there.

Realizing that they had been standing there in silence for a rather long time, he spoke first. "I'm sorry for staring."

"It's no problem," she calmly replied. "I do get people staring quite often, actually."

Now he felt bad. "O-Oh, I'm sorry—"

"You can stop apologizing," her tone was practically flat, although he could've swore that he heard a small giggle emerge from her lips after she had said that. "So, why are you here, anyway?"

"I used to live here," he answered, looping his thumbs in the pockets of his pants. "With my parents, might I add."

"Your parents?" Lydia breathed. "You mean the people that died?"

Sinking back, his face darkened over.

"Oh, ah— I'm sorry. I didn't know that it would just suddenly come out like that." Looking down, she began to fiddle with small buttons on her camera. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss as well."

"S'alright."

Lydia softly smiled at the stranger and he smiled back—with a _wider _smile, that is.

So, this house really _was _haunted, wasn't it? Lydia liked that. Of course, she hated the idea of this poor boy having to go through life without his parents, but then again, death did fascinate her. However, even though she didn't know this boy for long, she was growing fond of him in a sense, almost as if he was indirectly telling her that there would be something in that house that she would enjoy immensely. And because she liked him so much, questions regarding his parents' death would be saved for later. For now, introductions were at hand.

Extending her hand, she smirked. "Lydia Deetz. It's a pleasure."

He gripped her hand and gave a firm shake, tensing up slightly when he realized that she was rather cold. "Thomas Maitland. Likewise."


	2. Chapter 2

Winter River wasn't exactly known for its threatening rain, but today must've been the day where the precipitation made itself known. It threw itself down into the grass, creating a muddy soup in which a pair of jeaned legs furiously rushed through. Once the owner of said legs was at the doorstep of the Deetz household, he removed his hood and ran a hand through his brown hair before politely knocking upon the door. He rocked back and forth on his heels, awaiting his approval for entry.

To his luck—and desire, as well—Charles Deetz had answered the door. His left hand had a grip on the knob while his right was holding onto a pair of binoculars; that was a bit odd, for there seemed to be no birds or wildlife outside because of the rain. Even so, the boy managed to keep a smile on his face before saying: "Hello, Mister Deetz. Is Lydia home at the moment?"

Nodding, Charles called out to his daughter. "Lydia, Thomas is here!"

Charles liked seeing his daughter interact with someone other than him or Delia. Back in New York, Lydia always claimed that she was too _different _to see the other children, and she was, really. That still bothered Charles. But now, here in the countryside, Lydia finally found someone that was tolerable to speak with. It was a shame that when school started up in the fall, Thomas and Lydia would have to go their separate ways; she was going to a local school for girls, while he would be going to a quaint high school just outside of Winter River.

Upstairs, a door opened and a feminine voice could be heard. "I'm up here. He can come up."

Nodding to Lydia's father, Thomas shoved his hands into the pockets of his father's old school sweatshirt and walked upstairs, trying to adjust his glasses with his nose while doing so. Upon getting to the second floor, he walked into Lydia's room and closed the door behind him. He then took his normal seat which was sitting backwards on the chair by her desk, while she was sitting cross-legged on her bed. They exchanged curt nods in greeting.

"I'm glad you're here. I actually had a few things to ask you—they regard your parents."

"Oh, yeah"—he nodded—"sure."

Lydia wasn't sure, but she hesitated for a moment before asking: "What were they like?"

Thomas stared up at Lydia's ceiling, as if the answers were plastered upon it. "Ah, my parents . . ." He mused, looking as though his brain was going through various flashbacks. "Well, we'll start with my dad—Adam. Oh man, Dad . . . He was great. I remember as a toddler, he would carry me on his shoulders to the attic. There, he was building a miniature model of the entire town. It was pretty impressive, but my two or three-year-old brain couldn't exactly comprehend it much. I do remember that he said that it would be completed before I move out, and now that I think about it, I think it _is _completed.

"I also remember Dad teaching me how to ride my bike. I don't remember much, but I do remember that he got teary-eyed when I actually started making my way down our driveway." He glanced towards the floor. "I also remember him promising that he'd teach me how to drive, but . . . Well, that day would never come."

Ironically, it was a fatal car accident that had killed his parents. His father had told him that he and his mother were going to head over to the small hardware store that they owned. If he had known that on the way back, his father would swerve out of the way to avoid hitting one of the neighbor's cats, only to crash into the bridge and plummet to their deaths in the river, then he probably would've said much more then "Okay, have fun," before continuing to read. It wasn't long before he heard frantic knocking and then saw many of the townsfolk outside of his front door, breathing heavily as if they had just run a mile. It was those old neighbors that would give him the devastating news that would most likely change his life forever.

Lydia understood. Her real mother had died in a car accident, but she wasn't behind the wheel, rather a drunkard was and she wasn't paying attention while crossing the street. For a moment, she thought that Thomas was lucky to not have an annoying stepmother like Delia, but after everything that he said about Jane over the past two weeks, she quickly took her thoughts back. To change the topic, she finally spoke up. "And what about your mother?"

"Oh, Mom . . . Well, my mother's name is Barbara." Thomas smiled. "A lot of people said that I looked like her—minus the glasses." At the mentioning of his glasses, he took them off and wiped them on his drying sweatshirt. "She was really everything that you'd expect in a mother: kind, caring, pretty . . . I really liked as a kid when she would hide little notes in my lunches. She continued to do so in middle school, and I had to sneak them out so the other kids wouldn't laugh at me. . . . Although, to be honest, I never really did find myself sitting next to other kids often." Thomas looked up to Lydia, frowning. "I guess that's why I loved my parents so much; they weren't just my parents, but they were my _best friends_. Without them, I don't know if I'd ever have a true friend, really."

By now, Lydia's eyes grew wide, but with a hint of sympathy. For a split second, they shifted to two figures that were nervously shuffling about in the corner while holding onto each other before they went back to Thomas. Slowly, a small smile appeared on her face. "I'll be your friend."

"Really?"

"Of course. You seem like someone I can get along with."

* * *

"Oh, Adam, she did it."

"Barbara, I told you. Lydia seems like a trustworthy girl, and I had a feeling that Thomas would like her."

Adam and Barbara Maitland had met Lydia about a week ago. After being confronted under their sheets, the two had taken Lydia to the attic, where Adam had shown her his model of the town. Of course, the dead couple had also asked her many questions in regard to their son, after also admitting that they were the smudges in her one photograph and that they had watched her as she took various photos of the house before meeting their son.

After telling them that she had been inviting him over from time to time just to talk, the ghastly couple had asked her to try to make nice with him. They already knew that their son wasn't very social as it is, and the fact that there were no other children nearby didn't help much. Lydia told them that she was already beginning to like him and that their friendship would blossom on its own, but that she would make it happen soon.

Well, today seemed to be the day where it finally happened.

"Oh, just think about it!" The woman softly cried. "Lydia will be able to give messages to Thomas for us! I miss him so much, and look, he's wearing your old sweatshirt—"

"Barbara, we can't do that."

"Adam . . ."

"Do you want to get in trouble? I'm okay with Lydia knowing about us because she can _see _us, but I don't think that any other mortal should know about us. I don't want to break some rule of the Afterlife and have myself become"—he made various gesticulations, thinking of the word—"a whatchamacallit of the Afterlife."

"But Adam, he's our _son_. Don't you ever want to see him again?"

"Yes, honey, I do. I just want to be careful for now. Don't worry, when the time is right for us to finally reunite with him, we will. I promise." For reassurance, he gave her cheek a light peck. "Now, c'mon. We might as well head upstairs." He slowly glided between Lydia and Thomas, making sure that his son wouldn't get suspicious.

Barbara, on the other hand, didn't exactly do the same thing. Instead of getting past them, she gave Thomas a small kiss on his forehead before exiting.

* * *

Rubbing the middle of his forehead, Thomas frowned in confusion. "Is it cold in here to you?"

"No?"

* * *

Adam made his way into the attic first and Barbara was right on his heels. When he walked down the three, small steps that led to the general area, he heard a small cry for help before a series of crunching. Narrowing his eyebrows, he turned back to his wife. "Did you hear something?"

She shook her head. "No; nothing."


End file.
